The Twin Princesses
by andinify
Summary: AU. The royal family has lost so much, and two of the remaining members are working to make things right. Including Princess Maysilee Donner, sacrificing her freedom in an arranged marriage before all hell break loose, revealing hidden past and dirty secrets of a traitor. Based loosely on The Princess and The Pauper.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **I do not own The Hunger Games, The Princess and The Pauper or the characters mentioned below. I merely mash them into one sort-of-new story.

_**A/N: **A heads-up information for the character's name here and their reference to the actual book: **Ariadne **is **Mrs. Everdeen**, and **Madeline **is **Mrs. Undersee**._

_Oh, and this is set probably in the same timeline as the book, only with different kind of setting since Panem is in the form of a kingdom instead of a republic/nation. You get the picture._

* * *

**Prologue**

* * *

A guard comes rushing in just seconds after the urgent sound of trumpet blared, completely silencing the entire royal mansion. King William Donner stands stiffly near the end of the dining table—where he and his family was just having breakfast at—resting his hand protectively over each one of his twin daughter's shoulder. His wife—Lady Isabella Donner stands behind him, arm looped through his in close manner.

"Our surveillance guard has spotted a movement in the southeast woods, Your Highness. They will be here at approximately thirty minutes at the very least, though there is a possibility as well that they could be faster than that." The guard says, his breathing heavy as he stands before the royal family.

Seven-year-old Maysilee and Madeline stand by, watching the scene unfolds before them. They look from the guard with wild and panic eyes, to the calm and indifferent demeanor of their father. His jaws are set, a determined look on his strong features.

"How many are they?"

The guard gulps nervously. "Much more than other previous attacks, Sir. We currently estimated more than one hundred. Precisely, we are yet to know. Not until they are closer in distance."

King William nods, his eyes thoughtful as they stare out to the quiet mansion yard through an open window. It's unnervingly quiet; so much like the calm before the storm. "Alright. Get all the troops ready in position in ten minutes at most. We have one essential advantage here, being on the higher ground. Tell all the commanders present to never let go of the position despite whatever happens. Keep us having the upper hand until the entire enemies are completely gone. I do not want to hear a no, or but, or any word of one troop much less more leaving their post when the attackers are still within our line of sight. And call my servants to get my armor ready, I'll lead them myself."

This time, the guard doesn't seem so nervous anymore. He nods, straightens his back with the same determined look on his face like that of the King's, bows, then hurrying out of the room.

It's dead silent again before King William turns to look at his family. He looks at his wife who nods in silent support, then to his daughters—standing near him with such patience a normal kid wouldn't usually have. Of course, neither Maysilee nor Madeline is a normal kid.

The king then crouches in front of his daughters, taking one hand of each and enveloping them between his. "Now, sweethearts, I want you to listen to me. There is going to be a very ugly fight out there, and I want both of you to be safe. Go to the place where we used to play hide and seek, alright? But stay together this time with each other and your mother. Stay there until I'll get you two out and everything is safe again, okay?"

The little princesses—blonde locks tumbling down their backs, blue eyes deep like the ocean, nod in understanding as they both hug the king. "Be safe, Father." Maysilee whispers, Madeline merely nods in agreement. King William smiles, tightening his grip around his two beautiful girls. "You know I'll try."

There is no need to lie. Maysilee and Madeline have outgrown normal kids their age. Being the king's daughters, despite merely for less than two years has taught them that. They know fights are ugly, and people die in such thing whether they want it or not. Since the beginning, the very first time King William sat on his throne, he has begun to give hints to his young daughters about the reality around them. That not all people are nice, have food to eat in each meal time like they do, always have a proper roof to live under, or able survive a fight once it gets real ugly. They get the facts now, they understand.

Attacks like this are not a new thing, anyway. After the rebellion against the previous ruthless ruler, King Coriolanus Snow, the royal mansion has seen its fair share of attacks from Snow's remaining loyalists. Yet each time, none of the attacks has succeeded in even breaching the wall of mansion. King William's army—though not flawlessly professional and well-prepared—is fortunately very determined and loyal to their new ruler. William Donner was one of the most dominant symbol of rebellion against Snow, and him being a better ruler now is no longer a bullshit but otherwise, a fact. The people of Panem Kingdom has no reason to betray much less disappoint their king.

Except the Snow loyalists.

King William stands again, now fully facing his wife. He takes her hand in his, and glances to the guards by the door. They know better than to stare in such private moment between the king and his wife, but William never takes any risk. He turns back to Isabella, and kisses her hand.

Isabella is a strong woman. She knows there is always a possibility that her husband will not be coming back every time an attack comes. But she, having grown up as a noble woman, knows better than to let on of her emotions. The king doesn't need a discouragement as of now.

"You'll do hell to get back to me." She says instead, her voice cool and unwavering, though her eyes hold so much only the king can see them. He nods, a smile graces his usually strong and stiff features. The softness he reserves only for his family.

"You know I will, my dear. But-"

"No promises. I know." Isabella cuts him off tiredly, not wanting her hopes to be turned down already. She closes the distance between them, and kisses her husband briefly. "We'll be waiting for you."

William nods, his eyes following his family until they're out of sight. He has a bad feeling this attack is going to be the worst yet, but didn't have the heart to tell that to his girls. With a sigh, the king then signals to the guard, letting them bringing in his servants. They help him to put on his armor, getting him ready for the attacks.

"Here we come, goddamned rebels." He mutters, marching off to the battle.

His final battle.

* * *

The alarm blares, red lamps blink over and over as the people inside the royal mansion scurry out of rooms and hallways, running around to their respective safe hiding place.

Two guards flank Lady Isabella and her children, shouting for people to give way to the royal family. The lady smiles warily to the servants and maids who part their way for her, nodding and encouraging them to get moving after she passes as best as she can.

Suddenly, an explosion echoes, and people scream in horror as one of the wall, as well as the floor beneath it collapse. Unfortunately, the wall collapses right in front of Isabella and her children, forcing them to act on instinct and jump out of the way. The guard as well as Maysilee and her mother are stuck on one side, while Madeline is sunk into the underground floor - the dungeon.

"Madeline!" Isabella yells in panic.

The foot shuffling and loud noises behind them prevent them to hear any reply, and Isabella starts to worry out of her skin. Not until she hears Madeline's small voice at last from down below. "I'm fine, Mother."

She sighs in relief, but then bewilderment hits her. _How is she going to get to Madeline, or Madeline to her? _The guards are starting to get anxious, being so close to the now open, gaping wall. The lady as well as Princess Maysilee are in plain view right now from the outside, and the king would skin them alive if he knew. All people in the entire royal mansion knows, the three girls of royal family mean more than anything in this whole world for King Wiliam. "My Lady, we have to keep moving. You're in plain view right now you can't-"

Isabella shoots them a dagger glare. "My daughter is down below in the dungeon floor, and you expect me to _keep moving_?"

The guards gulp as they exchange nervous glances with each other. Isabella doesn't wait for their reply, though. She turns back to the dark hole on the floor, peering closely as she adjusts her eyes to the pitch blackness. Beside her, Maysilee bites her lower lip knowing her twin sister is probably in danger right now. _Madeline is down there somewhere... Can she jump to get here? Oh, probably not, the dungeon is too far down. Or maybe climb? _But then she looks at the dark hole, and the distance between the dungeon floor and the one she's standing on right now, and thinks, _no. Madeline can never climb it._

"Madeline, can you go somewhere and hide? Just until everything's over and we'll find you after!" Lady Isabella says again, the now quieter hallway lets her voice to carry through more easily.

There is a brief silence as Madeline's golden hair shifts into circle of lights emanating from the upper floor. She squints up at her mother and sister, then smiles grimly. "Okay, Mother."

Isabella swallows, she hates how Madeline has to get separated from her. The younger of the twin is always the quieter and shy and hesitant one, unlike Maysilee who is always up to the challenges her father throws at her. If it was Maysilee who is the one down there, somehow Isabella knows she wouldn't be as worried as she is now.

Quickly, she blinks her absolutely improper reverie away before she goes to talk again. "Okay, sweetie. Make sure no one knows your hiding place except your father and sister, okay?"

"Okay." Her voice is smaller than before, and Isabella has to fight the urge to jump down and scoops her younger daughter into her arms, then find her way back up. But she knows the guards won't let her - there's not much time. Their tolerance ends just right there.

Isabella looks down on her daughter, and takes her hand. Bitterly, she says, "Come on, Maysilee. We'll meet her and your father again soon."

Lady Isabella doesn't know, that the dungeon has never become the hiding place of neither Maysilee nor Madeline. It's too dark, too dingy, too smelly, and downright an awful place to be. And just based on that, somehow, little Maysilee has a bad feeling already.

* * *

The casket that holds the body of the king is lowered to the ground, and Isabella watches the casket is slowly covered by scoops of soils and hears her heart break to shattering pieces. The attackers were successfully defeated, what's with the late king's simple strategy worked its wonders. Though managed to bring his army to victory, William didn't survive the attack. An arrow landed on his chest, burying right in where his heart was and he collapsed right on impact.

Isabella holds on tight to Maysilee in her arms, listening to her crying softly to her mother's dress. The little girl knows she lost her father, as well as her_ sister_.

No one found Madeline after the attack. Every guard and every servant in the entire royal mansion has done everything they could, swept every inch of the mansion to look for the little girl. But no trace of her except a hairpin in the dungeon floor Maysilee recognized as the one her sister wore that day.

Panem Kingdom lost two members of the royal family to the attack. The kingdom now only has to rely on the mourning queen as well as their young princess to rule, continuing what the late King William has long started beforehand.

Once the gravestone is embedded to the heap of soils, one that is engraved with the king's name, Isabella lowers to the ground, and holds Maysilee's shoulders tightly.

The little girl looks up at her mother, her only family left. Her sad, yet strong and determined gaze nearly breaks her mother all over again, but Isabella knows she has to be strong for her daughter, _and_ the rest of the kingdom.

"You know, your father always won in the fights against the rebels, even with his death. And I promise you, Maysilee, we're not going to lose to them even though your father isn't here anymore. But I need you with me, okay? You are supposed to be the next queen after your father, but you're still young. Now, I'm going to make you ready before you can sit on the throne and continue what your father had started. Are you with me, sweetheart?"

Maysilee, always the strong one and up to challenges, nods firmly. Her seven years of age doesn't prevent her from thinking mature, understanding what's happening, more than a child should. Not after she has seen the body of her father with an arrow embedded in his chest, watched the casket being lowered and buried six feet beneath the ground, not after she heard her sister's last scared voice from behind a heap of rubbles and no longer seeing her again.

And even right when she and her mother begin their walk back to the now gloomy mansion, Maysilee is ready.

* * *

_**A/N: **Thoughts? Should I continue this or what?_


	2. Chapter 1: The Deal

_Ten years later._

* * *

The doorbell rings signing the door's opened, giving way of a gust of wind to enter the room. Hazelle looks up, her face breaks into a smile widely upon seeing her best friend coming in. Quickly, she dives under the table, and pulls out a small paper bag.

"Happy birthday, girly!"

Loraine stops short on her track, then lets out an airy laugh. "I was kinda hoping you'd forget."

"The birthday of my best friend?" Hazelle stands up, cocking her hip to one side before she crosses the room. "Not gonna happen. Here, this time I really made this myself."

The small cake is always a luxury for both of them. But every year, Hazelle and Loraine would take turn on making one for the other's birthday. This time, it's Hazelle turn.

Loraine takes a closer look at the cake while Hazelle lights up the candle. "Make a wish."

The blonde smiles wistfully at her best friend, whispering the one thing she always wants the most. "I wish I would remember what I've missed. The sooner the better."

As the flame goes out, Hazelle smiles sadly at her friend, throwing an arm around Loraine's shoulder. "Maybe this just isn't the right time, you know. Be patient. Good thing comes to those who wait, remember?"

Loraine merely sighs, dropping down on to her chair and folds her hands on her lap. "It's just- weird, you know? Constantly feeling this blank void in my head for these past ten years. Sometimes it feels like I can feel the memories are within reach but I'm in a total darkness I can't see a thing. But I feel them, their presence, mocking me to chase after them like a cat would to a mouse."

"Like when you forgot a word and you just feel it in the tip of your tongue but you can't exactly say it aloud?" Hazelle quips.

"Exactly!" Loraine chuckles tiredly, turning to look at Hazelle. The girl—dark-haired, silver eyes, olive skin so familiar to her; a constant presence in her life who always manages to make her feel better. Ever since Loraine could remember, Hazelle was always there. Their parents work in the same place, and then they're both sent to work for the Alma Coin's Clothing Line to help pay their parents loan, getting closer as possible throughout the years. And here they are, working their butts off under the cold steely stare of Alma Coin—the awfully perfectionist seamstress you can never please in your entire life.

She smiles, Hazelle—that signature heartwarming smile that always melts every man's heart in the whole town. "It'll get back to you, someday. I'm sure of it."

Loraine nods, her gaze faraway. "I know. But you know what? This time it feels real, you know? Like they're really close—my memories. I have a feeling they're going to come back soon."

For a while, Hazelle doesn't reply. She once heard the story of a lost princess from a nearby kingdom—blonde, blue-eyed, with undeniable beauty even at the age of a child. The princess was kidnapped when her age was just seven or eight; and Loraine long ago told her, at her age of seven, is when her memories start to blur into nothing.

Her instinct tells her that the story and Loraine probably has a connection, but as of today, Hazelle has no proof yet.

"Loraine?"

The blonde looks up, her foot stops moving up and down on the sewing machine.

"If you really do get your memories back, what will you do? What's going to happen, then, if it turns out to be something you've never expected?"

This time, Loraine stops altogether. She stands up from her desk, and walks confidently toward Hazelle's. "I don't know," she says, leaning to her best friend's shoulder. "But one thing I'm sure, you're still going to be my best friend. Right?"

It's like a breath of fresh air, a little reassurance and suddenly it makes Hazelle feel stupid. Loraine isn't a shallow girl, she's smart and respectful and always grateful for whatever she has. After all they've been through, why would Loraine leave her in spite of whatever circumstances they're in? Their long-time friendship has proved both of them that.

"Right."

* * *

"Rise and shine, sleepyhead!"

The sudden burst of early sunlight pours out from the now open window, hitting the sleeping form of Princess Maysilee Donner and making her squint. Even in her half-asleep state, Maysilee knows by heart, to whom the loud voice belongs to. Not to mention the said person, is the only person in the entire royal mansion who dares to call her _sleepyhead_.

"Go away, Haymitch." She says, pulling the cover up to her head. Footsteps heard, and there's a tap on her feet.

"Not until you open that deep and mesmerizing blue eyes of yours and see how beautiful this day is, sweetheart."

Maysilee peers out from her cover, staring at her best friend as well as tutor dubiously. "You are suspiciously very cheerful and awfully poetic today, Abernathy."

A boyish grin makes its way onto Haymitch's hard features, making it a great deal softer. The sunlight pouring behind him gives him an ethereal look a lot like an angel, with soft halos surrounding him as if to highlight his already charming and handsome features.

The princess blinks her daydream away, tilting her head to cover her sudden embarrassing moment. She then notices Haymitch's hands behind his back, as though they are keeping something hidden from her view.

"What is it behind your back?"

If anything, Haymitch's grin grows wider as he pulls out what's behind his back. A slim, long wooden box with blue ribbon tied neatly on top of it. He sets it down on the foot of Maysilee's bed, and takes a step back. With his smile intact, he bows a little to the young lady before him. "Happy seventeenth birthday, Your Highness."

Suddenly everything becomes so much brighter and prettier. _How could I forget my own birthday? _Maysilee, never the one to care for her own appearances, crawls out of her cover and takes the box, cradding it like a mother would to a baby.

Haymitch gulps. The beauty of the princess is undeniable, and him being the one who have grown up alongside her doesn't make him immune to it. Not to mention that as of now, the princess merely wears a thin nightgown which leaves little to imagination.

Quickly, he clears his throat, causing the princess to look up. Willing himself to not look a little bit south, he locks his gaze with hers. "You've got an hour before breakfast, Your Highness." He says, tapping an imaginary watch on his wrist. With that, Haymitch bows, flashes her another smile and walks away.

When his hand reaches the knob, though, he hears her call him back. The dark-haired young man turns his head. "Yes, Your Highness?"

The princess pouts. "No formalities today, will you?"

Haymitch smiles, the gentle one he saves only for the princess. "Yes, May?"

Maysilee's smile grows. The nickname Haymitch began to call her with since she was nine stuck, no matter how many times she has told him to quit calling her that. Though actually, deep inside, she kind of like it. It's like something special Haymitch reserves for her—only for her.

She then looks down on the open box in her hands, her finger runs through the chain of the simple golden necklace slowly. "Thank you. It's beautiful."

The boy at the door lets out a relief sigh he's been holding, afraid the princess wouldn't like his present very much. "Well," he winks at her. "Pretty thing for a pretty one, don't you think?"

Maysilee blushes. Her fair skin can never hide the scarlet burst on her cheeks or neck, and Haymitch loves every second he gets upon seeing it. He nods again to the princess without waiting for a reply, and throws open the door.

His way is blocked, though. A young maid is standing right in the middle of the way, talking to one of the young guard outside the door. Haymitch snickers. "Well, well, Everdeen, look at you. Have you forgotten? Your duty is to guard the princess, not to _flirt _outside the hallway of the _princess_' suite."

The addressed guard scowls. "Oh, and have you forgotten? _Your _duty is to _tutor _the princess, not to _flirt _with herin her _own bedroom_."

A set of laughter booms in the hallway—one of a girl and another one of a boy.

"Oh, shut up. Hawthorne, Ariadne, you both too. Just- ugh."

"Aw, Haymitch, it's okay. We all know that-"

"Not. Here. Dammit."

Inside, Maysilee smiles amusedly hearing the commotion outside her room. The young guards are good friends with Haymitch, and listening to their bantering is pretty entertaining in her boring life as a princess.

"Then where? In front of the princess?" The girl—Ariadne, Maysilee's personal maiden _and _closest girl friend—inquires.

"Hey, that's a pretty good idea. A princess and her tutor-"

"Boys," Maysilee finally calls. Their talk regarding her and Haymitch is irresistible for her to eavesdrop, but Maysilee strangely doesn't want to hear it. Yet.

Three heads peek in from the door as she ties her robe tightly around her waist with a smile plastered on her face. "The door is open, remember? I could hear every word you all have spoken. If you want to talk bad about me, I suggest you close the door so I would have no excuse to punish you because unfortunately, I'm pretty fond of you all."

Haymitch sneers. "See, Your Highness? If you wanted some professional guards, you really should have ordered a pair of more senior guards to be stationed outside your room."

Maysilee chuckles, beckoning the maid to enter her room. "Oh, please. I'm a lonely lass here. You know I'm very limited in socialization stuff. Is it wrong for me to have some companions my age because of that? Come on, cut me some slack."

One guard—the one Haymitch called Hawthorne—jerks his head toward Haymitch. "We always do, Your Highness. Your _tutor _here is the one that is very strict I'm starting to think-"

"Alright." Haymitch exclaimes, pushing both of guards' heads to face outside once again. "Time to get back to your respective duty. Ariadne, breakfast is in an hour. Get her ready by then, will you?"

The petite blonde hair snorts, her hand grips the door frame tightly. "You're taking my job, here, Abernathy." And with that, she slams the door shut.

Another set of muffled laughter booms outside the door—the guards, apparently—because afterwards Haymitch's retort can be faintly heart before two people shout from outside, "Oh, and happy birthday, Princess!"

Maysilee chuckles. "Thank you!" She shouts back.

And then it's silent again.

Ariadne stops by the princess' bed, her gaze lands on the open wooden box. Almost instantly, a smirk crosses her features. "So _that's _what brought Haymitch bright and early to your room, hm?"

Her teasing remark merely gets a grunt in response, and Ariadne knows better to expect more than that. The princess has been denying the possible romantic sentiment between her and her rather young tutor for years. It is as if the entire world knows about it but them. Well, either _that _or the two of them merely choose not to acknowledge that.

Truth is, both are just too scared to ruin the relationship they've already had. The deep bond that's built from years of friendship ever since both were so young, nearly right away after the attack where Maysilee lost her father and sister, when suddenly Haymitch came waltzing in picking up her pieces.

Haymitch's father, a well-known teacher from a faraway area near the suburb of the kingdom, was summoned along with some other qualified teachers in many kinds of subjects to the royal mansion by the queen. He brought along his only son, whom otherwise would be living alone since the mother was dead a few years back.

Queen Isabella, fully knowing how precious an only child as an only family left, allowed Haymitch to live in the mansion as well as a company to the princess in several certain subjects, until he was old enough to travel alone to the public school in town.

All those times when Haymitch sat quietly behind the young princess, Maysilee knew the boy was—and still is—one of a kind. He is smart and attentive, though sometimes a bit cocky. And being the son of the teacher who was teaching at the moment didn't prevent him from getting a gentle whack upside the head—which the princess often found amusing.

That, or at times when she would practice her self-defense—which she sucks at, by the way—and he would watch her until she's finished and casually pointing out her mistakes and what needed to be done to get her skill better.

Eventually, after his dad passed away, Haymitch took the place as began to act as the replacement tutor—whom Maysilee was more than happy to accept. Until now.

Sure, Haymitch's status is much lower than the princess, but ironically, Maysilee always thought—thinks—he is highly unattainable given the facts of the number of his pursuers—the young girls all around the castle and town.

_Having him as my best friend is the best shot I've got, _is the princess' famous line.

Ariadne notices though, Maysilee never denies the inquiry about her feelings towards the said guy.

"So," Ariadne says as Maysilee lowers her body into the tub. "You've got breakfast in forty-five minutes, then court meeting after-"

Maysilee sits up. "What? Court meeting during my _birthday_?"

An apologetic smile makes its way to Ariadne's soft features, her shoulders lifted up in a quick shrug. "Apparently so. My best bet is that there's an urgent issue needs to be immediately taken care of. I don't know. _You _are the princess, you should know this kind of stuff."

The princess merely groans out loud. "I do. Just _not _in my freaking birthday."

Her maid glances from her spot before the vanity set near the door. "What's the big deal? It's just another regular day. Thing that makes it different is that seventeen years ago, you were born."

May feels like she want to slap her own face off. Of course, people like Ariadne would never consider a birthday as something that important to celebrate. Inwardly, she cringes as Ariadne walks past her as she prepares for her robe.

"So… what else? After the court?" May asks, trying to cease the awkwardness. Ariadne looks up, then pulls out a slip of paper from her apron pocket. Her eyes skim over it as she reads out loud, "Breakfast, court meeting, self-defense practice, tutoring: history session, lunch, tutoring: etiquette session…"

"I can't believe they think I still a damn class of _etiquette_…"

Ariadne smiles amusedly upon hearing May's random muttering as she continues, "tutoring: art and music, and then you'll get your free time for the rest of the day."

The princess merely scowls upon the last line. "You don't say."

Her maid grins as she puts back the slip of paper into her pocket, then helps Maysilee into her robe before guiding her out to her dressing room.

* * *

_Here goes nothing._

Maysilee knows how the inside of the Court Room probably looks like now. Her mother, talking with her advisors and other officials, paper strewn before the old and boring people, the cold steely stare of some of the board members…

She sighs. Court meeting is never something she looks forward to.

"It comes with the job description, you know." A voice pipes up, and the princess quickly whirls around to face the source. Haymitch, of course, leaning on one of the royal mansion's pillar casually, his hands thrusted deep inside his pockets. A symphatetic smile graces his lips as he bows a little. "Princess." He says, addressing her formally.

For the second time, Maysilee sighs. "I didn't ask for this, you know."

Haymitch doesn't reply. He knows better than most, how Maysilee doesn't really fond of her current life. She is always an adventurous girl, wanting to see the real world outside and even live in it instead of _ruling _it and having to live in a faraway monstrous mansion. May hates the tutoring sessions that have to do with science or history. It is only a fortune that Haymitch is the tutor that Maysilee even willing to attend her sessions. If he was not the tutor, God knows whatever con Maysilee would have pulled to avoid them.

Though she hates the science and etiquette and art lessons—which is almost the entire sessions she has to attend—Maysilee loves the other kind of classes. Self-defense, horseback riding, strategy and political issue—though this one is more of a rarity than not. Not exactly questionable, really. May always wants to have an adventure of her own.

"Remember what you're doing this for. Your father, your sister. This is your duty, May. You said so yourself that you want to honor them, for their absence to not be something of a vain."

Maysilee scrunches up her nose in disgust. "Do you really need to throw my words back at me?"

Haymitch grins unabashedly. "Just a reminder. That's what friends are for, isn't that? To keep you grounded when you feel like you're flying high. To pull you back to the straight path whenever you're attempted to go astray…"

The princess rubs her temples tiredly upon hearing Haymitch's speech. "Yes, yes, Haymitch. I get it. I'm going in now. Happy?"

Her tutor merely tilts his head to one side, his brows furrowed just a little. "No. Not yet." He says, walking up to her. Maysilee holds her ground, keeps her stance poised like she is supposed to, although her heart is beating strangely loud inside her chest. That's just the weird kind of effect Haymitch has on her, and it has been since the past few months. Or years. Inwardly, May cringes.

Haymitch is in front of her now. He takes a once-over, brushing a part of hair behind her shoulders before nodding his approval. "That's better. Stance, good. Chin's up, perfect. Okay, you're good to go. Just lack of… a pretty smile to make it better."

She just can't help it, a smile stretches across May's face, and Haymitch's follows suit across his. "Now that's my princess. Go, sweep them off their feet."

Like usual, Haymitch perfectly knows how to make Maysilee's day brighter than before. Her laughter rings in the hallway as she walks toward the Court Room. "I'm not going to marry any of them!"

He just shakes his head, amused. "Hopefully not." He mutters to himself before turning back around and leaves.

"Ah, darling, finally. Come, we're about to begin." Queen Isabella, seemingly relieved and nervous at the same time ushers her inside. Just like May has already suspected, the board is all present, as well as her mother's advisors and some officials. Maysilee notices how almost everyone is here.

The question is at the tip of her tongue, but Maysilee knows better than to let them out. She'll know what she would ask sooner or later.

The queen raises her hand, and almost instantly everyone is silent. They turn and face their queen with respect, one that Maysilee is mostly jealous about her mother.

Queen Isabella was coronated as the queen under an awful circumstances. Her husband had just died from an attack, one of her daughter was lost among the chaos. Maysilee, the original heiress of the throne, was still too young to rule, hence her mother temporarily take over until she's old enough, and ready to be the queen of Panem Kingdom like she is supposed to. Despite that, everyone seems to treat her with high respect. People listens to her words, follow to her wisdom, and the kingdom hasn't even gotten much attacks during her reign.

On the other hand, the advisors and officials seem a bit skeptical about her. They rarely listen to her during meetings that if it weren't for her mother, Maysilee knows she wouldn't be more than just a speck of dust in the corner of the room.

"Sir Odair, if you wouldn't mind, please, do tell about our current situation to our newcomers." Queen Isabella says, waving her hand to her head advisors.

A middle aged, auburn-haired man stands up at once, bows to the queen before turning towards the rest of the court. His gaze lands on Maysilee, and suddenly she feels like a dwarf under the man's intimidating scrutiny. But then, probably upon seeing her flushed expression, the man's gaze softens just a little bit. He nods at her in respect, and starts his speech.

"As we all probably know, our kingdom is now facing a rather difficult situation. After years of major rebel attacks to the mansion, it seems that they are not ceasing in number after their last major attack which, unfortunately claimed the life of our beloved King William—bless his soul. What our intels are gathering, is that the rebels are gathering strength, and choose to attack our anchors one by one. That is, our natural resources."

Some people nod their heads, apparently knowing well about this. Maysilee does as well, but she just doesn't know the details. Lately, some court meetings are off-limits for her, without any clear indication why.

Well, it's not like she complained anyway. She'd rather not having to attend this dead boring meeting. With cold, steely, dead-looking eyes of these middle-aged people. Those like the intimidating Sir Ethan Odair, the sharp Lady Catherine Mason, the silent but brilliant Lady Diana Cresta, the cold and quiet Sir Romulus Thread, or even the creepy Sir Augustus Cray.

"Our economic status has been dropping as well, due to the impact these minor attacks have caused. According to the report our Head Security has filed in earlier, our coal, granite, and livestock are down. The entirety of these sections are completely destroyed, and to save it all," The man pauses, seemingly disturbed as well as tormented now to say this out loud. "We have no choice but to start all over from nothing."

There are some sharp intakes of breath. Some note-scribbling. But Princess Maysilee just sits there, poised, calm and collected outside while her inside is churning. _It is that bad in the kingdom, why telling me now?_

Sir Odair's eyes, which were before alternating on staring at everyone present, now settle on her. His gaze is, again, soft, but there is something that unnerves her in his stare. Pity. Sympathy.

And he begins again. "Our kingdom now only depends on the fishing sections and agriculture for living. But it is not going to last long, not if the rebels keep attacking like this. Preparing for the worst, the rebels are going to attack every single thing we have until barely nothing left. Or maybe they won't attack all, but enough anchors to make us crumble."

Maysilee's eyes catch those of her mother's, and she sees it, in Isabella Donner's blue eyes, the same thing Maysilee saw in Sir Odair's eyes. Only, in her mother's, Maysilee sees something else. Regret.

"To avoid this, we need a reinforcement. Our kingdom is quite a big one, indeed. But we don't have the very important thing we are currently, desperately need. Weapons and numbers of soldier. To that, we need a strong alliance."

Sir Odair then gestures to a woman—Lady Catherine Mason, and she stands up almost on cue. The woman bows to the queen, then turns and—creepily—faces the princess.

"For us, or any kingdom to seal a strong alliance, it takes more than just a signed piece of paper."

Dread fills Maysilee's stomach as something crosses her mind. Silently, she prays and hopes and wishes that her dread isn't going to be what this court is all about.

"Most of the Court has proposed, Princess, that we are in dire need to have an ally. And this ally, we believe, will be best happen with our closest neighbor yet. Utopia Kingdom."

"The problem is," Catherine Mason starts again. "During Snow's reign, most kingdoms stay out of our way, despite our country in possession of so many things most would go straight for it if possible. But Snow, made it impossible. No one wanted to get in his way. I admit, he was a very effective leader; just unfortunately, not in a very good way. We are fortunate, that some of these kingdoms have warmed up to us after the war, given the now much less ruthless ruler is in charge of Panem."

The Lady bows to the queen, as well as everyone, as Queen Isabella merely smiles in return.

"Still, our government is rather young, hence we are in a kind of vulnerable state. If we need an alliance, we have to offer them something meaningful to them, something that seals the deal stronger and better than any mere paper or gold would ever do. Something that would anchor their end of the bargain."

Maysilee gulps. _Please let me be wrong. Please._

"The Utopia Kingdom has two heirs of their throne, Prince Alexander Undersee and Prince Matthew Undersee. The former, as we all have heard, is going to step up for the throne in a month's time. While the latter, being the younger one, is going to be the head of senior advisor—enough of an influential position in a kingdom as big as Utopia, not to mention his being already born as a prince. Unfortunately, yes, Prince Alexander has already had a partner he wishes to spend the rest of his life with."

The brown eyes of Lady Catherine bore holes into Maysilee's head.

"Fortunately, Prince Matthew has yet to find his."

As calm as she can muster, Maysilee merely takes a deep—though a bit shaking—breath. "And what do you propose about this matter, regarding of my required presence here?"

The lady turns to the queen, and with a sigh, the queen stands up.

"Honey, now that you are of a legal marriage age, you have to marry Prince Matthew as part of the deal."


	3. Chapter 2: Acquaintance

The palace of Utopia is a huge—if not massive—three-story Renaissance-styled building. It sits tall on a vast clearing, surrounded by an outspread garden with grass and canopies of trees in its best shade of green, flowers blossom in countless points everywhere anyone's eyes land on, the air as refreshing as the mountain's breeze. Beyond the well-cared and ravishing garden, is a cliff where the magnificence of the palace truly lies upon. The cliff itself, overlooks the capital city of Arnoldia, right below the snaking curves of road up towards the palace ground. The location seems to be similar like that of Panem Royal Mansion; only much more grandeur. The palace could even be seen from hundred of miles away, from every direction of the country the looker is looking from.

Off to the side of the palace, a slightly sweaty young lady has just been granted the rare allowance for people as low-leveled as hers, to enter and witness the glamour of the inside of palace.

"Thank you, fine gentlemen." Loraine curtsies, plastering a genuine smile as the guards open the enormous wooden door for her. She is still smiling upon remembering a backhanded compliment they threw at her, not paying attention to her way when her face hits something strong and warm. Or rather, _someone_.

She is too caught up in surprise that she lets out a very unladylike squeal as the person she bumped into quickly gets ahold of her elbows. "Whoa, there. Careful with where you're going to." Comes a deep, if not slightly amused, voice.

"I'm so sorry, I wasn't thinking nor looking where I was going and I-"

Her breath is caught in her throat when she looks up and gets a good look as to whom she bumped into. _I'm dreaming_, she thinks to herself. This person is the person she—and most people of Utopia—always look only from afar. One out of two most popular males the girls of Utopia always dream about to be their husband. Blonde, tall, with an air of authority surrounding him, like he's born to do things he does. Well, he actually _was _born royal, so there's that_._

"Prince Matthew, Your Highness, I'm so sorry. Please forgive me," she panicked, her eyes anywhere but on him.

Surprisingly, the prince just laughs—and to be noted, without releasing his hold on her elbows as she stands shakily on her feet. "I wasn't looking where I was heading as well, so please, it was not entirely your fault. Forgive me, miss…?"

Realizing how impolite she is becoming right now, quickly Loraine straightens her posture and captures his gaze for a flickering moment before hers lands back on the ground. "Loraine White, Your Highness. Pardon my manner, I-"

The prince merely waves his hand in dismissal, though his eyes stay warm and friendly enough. "Please, it's okay. At least it's not my brother you bumped into. That would be a whole different story."

Loraine laughs nervously, wringing her hand along as her usual nervous habit, knowing Prince Matthew is right. If she were to run smackdab into the First Crown Prince Alexander Undersee, that absolutely would be a different story. And possibly different fate for her later.

"If I may ask, though, what brought you here, Miss White?"

Now that reminds her of what she is supposed to be doing. "Oh! I'm sorry, Your Highness. And please, it's just Loraine. I, uh, have to deliver this package… the royal's stylist, um, Portia Wright? She apparently ordered this—" she pats a small box hanging by her side from her shoulder, "—from my place and asked for it to be delivered before the coronation. Now since we've finished it might as well be done with it."

The prince, amusement dancing still in his eyes, replies with an answer she wasn't expecting. "You really are apologizing too much today."

Loraine blinks up to him in surprise. From a distance, all she has known about the prince is what commonly known among people: that he acts as a royal should, dignified, polite, upholding _a lot _of manners… This time, though, the first time Loraine meets him face to face, within a _very_ close distance with no one else but them—she uncovers one thing. The prince looks, sounds, and seems to be better up close.

"I-"

Again, he merely waves his hand. "No. Stop right there and quit apologizing. Now, this is your first time into the palace, yes? The guards should have shown your way inside. Ah, well, since they didn't do their job well, I shall be the one accompanying you. You mind?"

Loraine is flabbergasted. She probably is staring—no, _gawking_—at the prince at what he just offered. Upon seeing her expression, the prince laughs. "What? Not used to a prince escorting you around?"

The girl in front of him flushed prettily. "Actually, this is the first time I've ever encountered a prince up close."

He grins, a boyish one that makes his features so much younger than he looks—which Loraine finds really charming. She hasn't been a very big fan of the two princes of Utopia like every other normal girls, though she knows—and _admits_—they're handsome and charming and all, but so what? Yet here she is now, really is seeing how the charm and that damned good look works.

"There's always the first time for everything, don't you think? Besides, I want to ask you a few questions, do you mind?"

Loraine shakes her head and smiles shyly. "Of course not, Your Highness."

Prince Matthew nods. He gestures to the further inside of the palace, and stars to walk. Loraine follows a step behind, wondering what the prince would need to inquire her about. Her prior desire to enjoy and take in every beauty this famed palace vanishes from her mind.

"So, I was wondering about how is the real condition out there? The price of the main necessary goods? How's the market going? Is it hard to gather things for daily use or is it the same as always?"

The line of questions spoken in rapid-fire kind of catches Loraine off guard. _Is he really asking me this?_

Maybe it's her expression that gives it away, or the pregnant pause after Matthew blurt out his questions, that the prince looks a bit sheepish. "I'm sorry. I'm just- it's been kind of overwhelming to me. My brother is going to be coronated soon, and during that coronation it'll seal my place too as his head of advisor—while I don't think I'm qualified enough for such position. Between you and me, I think I'm having cold feet right now."

If Loraine thought she couldn't be more flabbergasted, she was wrong. Her hand fly to her chest, her face a mock surprise. "Did you just admit a secret to a stranger, Your Highness?"

Matthew tilts his head a fake confusion, apparently catching her merely teasing him as a glint of mischief gleam in his eyes. "Did I? Oh, I don't know. You seem to be trustworthy of my secret." He winks at her, and just that split moment Loraine thinks she might be going to faint any second now.

"Well," she clears her throat, biting back a smile while her hands, again, wrung together as Matthew watches her bemusedly. Loraine is aware of this, _thank you very much_, and that's why she doesn't want to give the prince the satisfaction that he got to unhinge her somehow. The good first impression of the prince is seemingly starting to evaporate given how much he, though jokingly, has harassed her until this point.

"Since I'm not one of those upperclass merchants, I think the prices are still high, like usual. Though I do notice it's gone even higher than before, making it astronomical to us, the lowerclass folks. As for the market, it's still going well, I suppose. Actually," she pauses, contemplating whether she should tell the prince this or not.

She glances up at the said prince, and sees that he is already nodding in encouragement. His expression is serious, but his eyes are soft and inviting, as if saying _it's okay, go on and tell me what you know of_. So she does tell him.

"I couldn't help but hear the whispers in the street, Your Highness, that the prices are going up because of the situation in Panem Kingdom isn't as safe as it was before. More like when the rebellion was happening. This time, the rebels are attacking the resources, making them rare commodities, hence the high prices. From what I've heard as well, there's an agreement Utopia and Panem have worked on for, and-"

Another thing resurfaces in her mind. Something she should have remembered. "Oh, congratulation, Your Highness. You are to be married with the princess of Panem soon, am I correct? I wish you and your marriage the best, then."

It's probably the light that dances through the window that blurs her vision, but Loraine sees a flash of pain in his eyes before he quickly recovers. A smile slips into his face, his head bows just a little. "Yes, the news is correct. And thank you."

Loraine nods, their feet then continuing their paused journey through the palace, to the place where the royal stylist is residing. She can't help but wonder some things while in all of a sudden, a tad bit uncomfortable silence heaves around them—like why he seems to be so down about getting married, but then she remembers stories about royals; when they have to marry not by their own choice, but by duty—but since it sounds to be a very private topic to discuss with anyone she just met, let alone _a prince _she just met, Loraine opts to ask something else. "Why do you ask me all of that? Pardon me, but couldn't you ask the official that holds the responsibility in economic, perhaps?"

The prince smiles softly, and shakes his head. "No, I've heard enough from him. I want to hear it from different point of view."

Loraine nods in understanding. "Of course. It's very wise of you, Your Highness, to see through different glasses. It could give you different perceptive, which is very good." She smiles as she catches a glimpse of a room down the hall, full with garments in so many rich colors. It doesn't take a genius to tell: the stylist room. She then turns to face the prince, and smiles up at him. "You're going to be a very good head advisor for His Highness Prince Alexander."

A warm smile lights up his entire face, and Loraine feels her heart races one beat faster. "Thank you. Wish me the best of luck, I don't wish on seeing you and my people suffer under our reign."

This time, it's Loraine's turn to smile, one that is so contagious and heartwarming the prince has to keep reminding himself to not do anything stupid—like having a silly little crush on this girl—what's with the fact that he's bound to marry someone else already.

They stop in front of the stylist room, and a young woman—probably in her mid-twenties—emerges. The prince smiles, "Loraine, please meet our royal stylist, Portia."

Loraine turns to the cheerful-looking stylist, Portia, her smile bright and wide. "Pleased to meet you. I'm Loraine, are you the one who ordered these?"

If possible, Portia's smile grows wider. "Oh! Yes, oh I'm so glad it's here! I was so intrigued when I passed the Alma Clothing's Store that—the designs! The choice of colors and—oh they're just simply so gorgeous. She has a whole batch of really talented designers and dressmakers!"

"Only two, actually." Loraine corrects her with a smile. Portia blinks, pausing her rambling. "Really? Only two in making such beautiful lots of dresses?"

Loraine shrugs nonchalantly. "Well, the workers mostly come and go. Right now it's just me and Hazelle Riverton."

Portia's eyes grow wide. "_You _made those dresses?"

The girl in front of her smiles sheepishly. "Some. I work together with Hazelle to make do of everything, of course."

"Oh! You've got to come here and discuss a few things with me! We can-" Portia pauses, seemingly just remembered someone is watching their interaction silently. The prince, it seems, is used to Portia's bubbly demeanor and merely watches with a small smile, Portia getting new informations from her—their—new friend. "Can her, Your Highness?"

The prince smiles, then turns to face Loraine. Unconsciously, she cowers under his scrutiny. _Why does a royal have to be intimidating? Were they born with it or-_

"Of course, Portia. Just make sure your meetings do not interfere with her working hours. And certainly if Loraine approves."

Portia slaps her forehead. "Oh, dear me! I'm such a fool. I'm sorry. Do you mind coming here and talk about those kind of things, darling? It would be such an honor for me to get acquantained with a talented person like you. And you can bring your friend too. Can't she, Your Highness?"

Again, Matthew only nods with a bemused smile.

The royal stylist grins, the light in her eyes dancing vigorously, like a little kid that has just been allowed to buy a new toy. "Loraine?" She turns to the young girl before her.

Loraine smiles softly. She can't exactly refuse this cheerful woman, can she? Besides, that will give her the opportunity to go to the palace more often, and gets the chance to admire the palace more. Not to mention that she can learn, maybe a thing or two from this obviously talented stylist—come on, she wouldn't be _the _royal stylist if she weren't talented.

"Wonderful! Loraine, come here whenever you're free tomorrow, can you?"

The addressed one smiles again, and nods. "Certainly. I'll see if I can bring Hazelle, too. I should go back, though. I'm sorry, but I only get a break to deliver this thing and afterward, my mistress has given me a direct order to come back as soon as possible to the store."

Portia nods in understanding. "Of course, it's perfectly fine, Loraine. Take care, and be careful on the way."

"Then it's my duty to escort you out. Come, Loraine." Matthew says politely, gesturing with his hand the hallway to where she is going. Loraine nods her head in reverence to Portia before turning around and falling into step beside the prince once again.

Their walk back is more silent than before, but not for long.

"I guess we'll be seeing each other around, huh?"

Surely that—the prince—surprises Loraine _again_. That the Royal Highness Second Crown Prince Matthew Undersee, is not only escorting her in _his _palace, acting all friendly to her—a no-one—and now he's making an effort in talking to her?

"Yes, I suppose we will. Is that okay, Your Highness?"

The prince throws a glance her way, and a slow smile makes its way across his features. "I okayed it with Portia, didn't I?"

Loraine suddenly realizes how stupid she might have sounded like, so she merely nods in response and drop her gaze to her shoes. _Duh, those need to get scrubbed as soon as humanly possible._

"May I ask why the workers of your mistress's mostly come and go?"

The question startles Loraine. _Stupid_, she scolds herself. She probably shouldn't have said anything about that—too late to back off now.

"Well," she starts, considering where to start. "Alma Coin… she's a good woman, actually, determined, just a bit cold in exterior. She's a perfectionist and hard to please, but generous. People come to her when they need loans—well of course, I mean, she has lots of business running around and more money to care for. So she gives away money for people… though like in usual loan cases, some people can't always return their debt much less the interest. So in exchange of their inability to repay the debt, Alma recruits them—these people, or anyone they offer in their place in her business."

Prince Matthew eyes her warily. "And… does she pay these people?"

Loraine smiles sadly. "No. Fortunately, she still gives us food to eat. But that's it. It's efficient, though. That way, we have no choice but to come to work to get food. Not many people have as much riches as she does, so not many people whom we can turn to for help if we weren't working for Alma."

Her choice of word, however, catches his attention. "_We_? Do you…?"

The girl before him smiles as she shrugs in an obvious fake nonchalance. "Yeah. Just one more year or so before I'm free."

Something crosses the prince's mind, and he can't help but ask, "But where are your parents? Are you, you know, trapped there because of your own loan or…?"

"My parents's loan." Loraine answers halfheartedly. This conversation really is heading to a somewhat sensitive topic. "They're fine, at home, thankfully are not obliged to go through the work. But I'm happy working where I am, so that shouldn't be a problem."

The prince furrows his brows. "Why don't your parents work on their own to repay their debts? Why should it be you, their _daughter_? Are they sick?"

Loraine's eyes turn glassy, and for a second Matthew is guilty for asking such a thing. He might be a prince, but he just met Loraine today—heck, that was not even an hour ago and he's asked her that sort of question. Loraine, as his subject and—dare he says—a regular person, knew better earlier when she was almost nudging a sensitive topic. And here, between them, the royal who is supposed to know the rules and boundaries and limits and etiquette is _him_. Yet here he is, asking a private inquiry about her life.

"No. They're not sick. It's just," she pauses. And that's enough to let Matthew know, it _is _ a private matter of hers. Quickly, he rests his hand over her shoulder, causing her to look up. The sincerity in his eyes is unmistakable. "Don't. If it bothers you, you don't need to answer that. I'm sorry, I was edging a private territory, and I'm so sorry for bothering you. Forgive me."

Loraine knows she should be relieved, but something in her makes her _want _to tell him. The only other person who knows this is Hazelle—of course, she works with her for years, it's only fair that Hazelle knows about why she has to work to repay her parents's debt.

"No, really, it's okay, Your Highness. It's just- _I _myself offered to do the work. Since… with that loan- half of it they spent to buy me from the slave market."

* * *

The sky is dark, mirrorring how Maysilee's mood today. She's in a car that is on its way to Utopia Kingdom. The last court meeting she attended was the worst she has ever gone to her entire life. The one that took away her freedom, her wish of someday marrying someone she loves, someone of her own choice. Now, it's all gone. She is set to marry the Second Crown Prince Matthew Undersee of Utopia in order to save her kingdom. Maysilee knows it's her duty, hence her accepting her fate without so much of thinking.

But at night, when she sat by her bedroom's window, Ariadne behind her, braiding her golden hair did a flash of memory crossed her mind. All the time she sees her closest girl friend blushing furiously, Soldier Everdeen shamelessly flirting with her was when the tears started to fall.

Why can't she be happy like that?

And then Haymitch had to waltz in and make everything worse.

He was there afterwards, wiping her tears away before holding her as she cried. He continued Ariadne's work, braiding her hair in his soothing kind of way, his hands still around her, in complete silence. No words came out of his mouth that night, but his silent treatment was all Maysilee ever needed. Sure, her tears flowed out more than she intended to, but after, it was like a weigh had been lifted off her chest as she fell asleep in his arms. And she hasn't cried again ever since.

She woke up the next morning on her bed instead of her window's alcove, her body all warm and light. Immediately Maysilee knew, Haymitch must have gone back to his duty right after she fell asleep. Haymitch isn't only May's mentor—that alone wouldn't be enough for him to afford his current style of living. Hence him joining in the army, becoming one of the mansion's guard right after he graduated school without so much of a second thought.

Him leaving that night certainly had saved her from the immense embarrasment of her breakdown. But she could not avoid him forever. Now, she can't help but glance at Haymitch, sitting next to her looking as sharp and handsome as ever makes her heart break just a little more.

Seated at the front, Soldier Hawthorne takes shotgun while Soldier Leighton holds the wheel. Outside, five other security details flank the car on their respective motorbike, including Soldier Everdeen, Soldier Mellark, and other three senior guards. At first the Court was skeptical of her choice of securities—dominated by freshmen and old bones, they all said. But once she threw her usual wits, something along the line of, "You're going to marry me off to some unknown stranger who is not my choice at all. The least you can do is letting me _choose_ my own protection details and suck it off." And that worked efficiently to shut them up, though not without her receiving a dissaproval look from her mother.

All of her protection details are those whom she knows well. Darius Leighton, Ian Hawthorne, Rilee Everdeen, Jared Mellark, and of course, Haymitch Abernathy are those who are closest to her age, those who are among the youngest of the guards—and dare she says, her friends. The rest, are the senior ones she remembers were trusted by her father before he passed away.

"You okay, Your Highness?" Haymitch blurts out, breaking the heavy silence in the car. Maysilee nods mutely, not trusting her tongue to throw a rather harsh reply. It's not his fault, she reminds herself. She has no right taking her anger out to these people.

Haymitch doesn't seem too convinced. But there are other people in the car, and he knows better than to press the princess. She has an image to uphold, anyway.

"Pardon my boldness, Your Highness, but you know it's just us. You don't have to worry over opening up in front of us." Ian says, his eyes catching hers through the rearview mirror up in the middle front.

Maysilee smiles, and is just about to open her mouth to reply when the loud screeching and gunshot begin.

* * *

_**A/N: **__There you go: a filler chapter. To be noted, the first part event (which happen in the Utopia Palace) took place way before the second part. Basically in this story, in each chapter, for Loraine's part, I'm just picking up the pace where I previously left off her part, and it goes the same for Maysilee's. Get the picture?  
_


	4. Chapter 3: Flee

_Here's some action for you._

* * *

"Turn around! Get them off our tail and we'll retrack to Utopia!" Rilee shouts, and without so much of a grunt, Darius complies from behind the wheel.

It's a truck. From the corner of her eyes Maysilee has seen the truck coming from the opposite direction before, but this wasn't what she expected: for the truck to suddenly turn in such precision, right in front of the car she is currently seated on.

The sudden movement would have thrown her off her seat if she weren't buckling her seatbelt. Still, her head bangs the window glass as the car swerves in quite a speed to the left in order to avoid the truck, sending a long gust of dust at its wake, sliding harshly across the road. The royal party now are backtracking high-speed, racing to the way from where they came from. Up on the open rear bed, everyone in the car get a glimpse of masked figures leaning out, pointing and firing their guns at the Panem Royal's car. Four of the additional security details are thankfully still unharmed—what's with their bulletproof vest and all, flanking the car on the front and rear with speed no less than the car's. Apparently, some driving lessons they've received are lesson of how to maneuver your vehicle to avoid getting shot.

_Nice, _Maysilee thinks, _and definitely comes in handy._

"Did they think we would have stooped that low to own a car or a bike that isn't bulletproof?" Maysilee hears Rilee mutters, irritated as bullet after bullet rains down upon the back of the car.

The princess leans forward, peeking at the speedometer. "At least we have the advantage. That truck isn't built for speed, right? Most likely they chose it only for its durability since the turn was obviously deliberate. They probably didn't expect our driver to be so skilled in turning the car around and flee," she says, patting Darius's shoulder in gratitude. He grins proudly, and without taking his eyes off the road, says, "Honored to serve you well, Your Highness."

Entirely unaware of the tad bit easing tension, next to her, Haymitch is pressing on his comm unit, talking a rapid-fire command in a very business-like tone that May finds pretty odd coming out from him. "With all due respect, sir, please, three of you, go back to the mansion and inform the queen that we've been ambushed," pause. "Yes, yes, I know it's your duty to protect the princess, and it is mine as well, sir. I have a plan, and if you three stick around, there won't be any guarantee that you won't survive this shit. Yes, three. I need one of you still. Hawthorne is the one who stays… No, it's because he's the only one out of all four of you that has the guts to ride a bike in sky-high speed. We're going to need that. Yes, Hawthorne, you hear that. Follow the car and you'll get the princess right away after she gets out."

Suddenly Darius, Rilee, and Haymitch wince at the same time.

"No, sir. Of course we're not going to let out the princess here in the middle of the road. That's suicide. We'll turn to the forest after we've covered some distance away from that truck."

As if cued, Darius speeds up the car, the other bikes soon follow hot on its trail. From the look on her tutor's face, Maysilee knows one thing: it's the same look when Haymitch had when he got an idea to help her sneaking out of her tutorial sessions—he has a plan. And she knows more than anyone, that it's going to work.

A string of unmentionable words fly out of Haymitch's mouth as all of a sudden, a bullet hits the bulletproof tinted window on Maysilee's side, sending quite an unmistakable jolt of powerful momentum. Incredulous, Maysilee stares at a dent formed as the result.

"They have that godforsaken newest gun!" Darius says with gritted teeth, voicing out an answer for her unspoken question as to _how _a regular bullet could make such a dent in their bulletproof glass.

"This is no time for caring what guns they have, you idiot. Keep driving and try to get away from this!" Haymitch snarls, his hand grasps Darius' seat in a death grip. The redheaded soldier merely glares at him for a notable split second.

"What do you think I'm doing right now?" he retorts, flooring the gas pedal even more the effect catches the others off guard. "I have a feeling you're kind of enjoying this, Darius." Maysilee scoffs, gripping the edge of her seat.

The redhead guard chuckles. "Sorry, Princess!" though his expression tells her he isn't sorry at all.

Maysilee grits her teeth, feeling her heart pounding loudly in her chest. "It's fine. Go and do whatever you can," she says, trying to keep her demeanor calm and composed. But _heck_, whoever _could _when they're attacked from a group of horrendous black-masked figures with purpose as clear as day—hunt them down?

She casts a glance outside. Big mistake. The guard that flanked her side of door falls off his bike as it swerves out of control. The man is unmoving, laying there in the middle of the road as they get further away. But in the split second Maysilee saw him fall, she catches the sight of a huge ruby ring on his finger. Instantly, she knows who it was.

Her mouth barely contains her scream. Haymitch quickly pulls her to him, burying her head into his chest. "Shit. Ssh, come on now, no need to look. It's okay. He died with honor, May. Trust me, it's all we royal guards always dream of."

But of course that doesn't help at all. One of her security detail is dead. Thomas, May remembers his name. A bit hard in exterior as well as a womanizer, that one, but he could also be a caring man whom even had a soft spot for her—what's with him already supporting her father far before the rebellion ever happened.

Now he's gone.

Yet, she isn't Maysilee Donner if she gives up that quickly. She looks down on her feet, sending a disgusted glare at the high-heeled sandals strapped on them. Without so much of a second thought, she unties the strap, then turns to the front seaters. "Do any of you happen to have a spare gun?"

Behind her, Haymitch's eyes go wide in surprise. So are Darius's and Rilee's.

"Princess," Rilee starts, his tone evidently nervous. "I have never been the one to guess right what's going on inside your head, but please tell me you're not going to do the dirty job and-"

May grips Rilee's shoulder to stop him from talking. "No, it's just for my own protection, hopefully I won't have to use it. Haymitch has a plan, and it's to get me out of this, correct? You're going to continue your way which will lead them away from me while I go on safely to Utopia through the forest with Ian. Am I wrong?"

It's silent before Haymitch speaks up. "Close. Anyway, do you even know how to use a gun?"

Maysilee turns, facing him with a scowl. "You taught me, don't pretend to be such an innocence."

Her mentor, best friend, and guard, is about to open his mouth again but she holds her hand up. "This discussion is over. Rilee, give me a spare gun. Darius, try your best."

It's deadly silent in the car before Rilee hands her out a gun. A flare gun.

"Shoot it if they're still on your pursuit. It'll buy you some time. The bullets here are sort of explosives, and that hopefully will distract the attackers long enough. If necessary, shoot it even if it's going to affect us as well."

The picture comes into the princess's mind, and she shudders to think if it were ever to happen—her shooting an explosive that kills not only the attackers, but her friends and personal guards as well. She is about to protest when Rilee holds up his hand. "I won't take no for an answer, Princess, I'm sorry. It's our sworn duty to protect you, and we're not going to abandon it now, or anytime for that matter."

Hesitantly, Maysilee reaches the gun. The back of her eyes are pricking with tears, as she looks up at one of her guard who she has long considered as her friend. But the only thing she say is, "Ariadne is going to kill me for this."

Rilee laughs ruefully. "She'll survive without me."

When the princess turns to Haymitch, he's already thrusting a pair of boots to her, his eyes unreadable. May blinks in confusion, Rilee's voice giving order to Ian to close his distance and get to the princess' car through their comms unit is heard in the background.

Of course, Haymitch snorts. "What? I'm not going to let you go barefooted out of this car. You've never liked those kind of sky-high shoes anyway. I asked Cinna to pack this too, just in case."

The princess chuckles darkly—always, Haymitch would have thought of everything, even bringing her favorite pair of boots for this journey. She accepts the boots, stepping her feet into them and fastening the ties. Everything becomes more real now. She's about to step out of the car's safety, fleeing on a bike, hoping that the attackers will follow the bait and never find out that she's not in the car anymore. And suddenly she wonders what will happen to her beloved guards if those attackers manage to stop them.

Without so much of a second thought, in one swift motion she kisses Haymitch's cheek, leaving him gaping at her.

"Brace yourself!" Darius shouts, giving no moment for anyone to do just that, because in less than a second later he's throwing the wheel to his right as the car enters an opening between the trees, riding on the rough surface of the forest.

Two of other bikes turn to their left, the direction of Panem. One other bike remains close to the car, maneuvering further into the forest ground. The truck can't be seen anymore behind them, but it'll be in no time the men in black mask will be in pursuit, albeit on foot.

"Here. Turn off the engine." Haymitch says, and Darius does as he's told. Ian's bike stops on Maysilee's side of the car, and quickly she steps out to the open air.

"Here's some stuff you might need. Go, May. Hawthorne, keep her safe and go straight to the palace." Haymitch says, thrusting a canvas backpack to Maysilee as well as sending a death glare to his fellow guard. Ian nods grimly, well aware that this is not the time for jokes and Haymitch is dead serious as of now.

The princess mounts the bike, hearing behind her Haymitch giving orders to Darius and Rilee. "Take something that can't fall into those filthy bastards' hands. Don't bother with the rest. Leave it unlocked, less chance for them to destroy this. We're probably going to need it later. Come on, we gotta work fast here, lads."

Before Maysilee has the time to say goodbye whatsoever, the motorbike engine roars as it shoots forward, away from the car. She does look back though, and sees Haymitch staring at her retreating figures, nodding once before turning back to the task in hand.

The three young guards will have their time finishing their task and get away. Unfortunately for the princess and Ian, some of the attackers happen to get on their way. For a split second prior, Maysilee knows that she will have to use the gun. Few shots ring out as they pass by, but Ian is fast and skilled with his bike—much like Darius with the car. They're past the attackers in an instant, and before she cowers in using the gun, Maysilee fires.

A thick wall of grey dust and blazing red of fire now effectively blocking the way between them and the attackers. She doesn't even stop to look back except a flickering glance at the rearview mirror. The sight of the damage she has done suddenly becomes too overwhelming.

Just as she thinks it's going to go pretty smoothly from now on, she hears Ian stifled moans.

"Goodness, Ian, what happens?" She asks urgently, her eyes glancing in panic to the rearview mirror to get a good look at the soldier in front of her.

"Nothing, Your Highness. A bullet… it just grazed my leg. Not a big deal. I can handle this, don't worry. We have to get as far as we can from this first before we deal with anything."

Instantly, the princess looks down at the ripped part of Ian's pants, and see dark liquid seeping through the fabric—or what's left of it. "You're bleeding!" she protests. "You're going to leave trail on our way!"

Ian glances at her through the rearview mirror, then shrugs. "By the time they found the trail, you're going to be safe in the palace. I'm not going to stop, Your Highness. I'm sorry."

Irritated, Maysilee doesn't reply. Her hand quickly fishes the backpack Haymitch gave her. _There must be something that'll help,_ she curses inwardly, trying to find whatever cloth or anything that will help stop the bleeding.

She finds a scarf inside, and Maysilee doesn't hesitate on pulling it out. "We're stopping soon. Just to wrap this around your leg so it's not going to leave a trail of blood behind. And that's an order."

Ian lets out a groan, hating that she uses that advantage of him. He knows he can't deny her when she already uses that line. Of course, May never like to do that, but this is for his own good.

The sky is darkening, but Ian still hasn't showed any sign of stopping, no matter how many times Maysilee keeps asking him to. "No, please, Your Highness," his voice sounds tired, and Maysilee has to shut her mouth. "Whether you like it or not, I'm not going to stop. Not unless we're in Arnoldia, at least. In the middle of the forest like this," he takes off one of his hand from the handlebar, and gestures to their passing surrounding. "We're never going to be safe. None of us know what's lurking in the shadow, and since I'm the responsible here—no offense, Your Highness—not to mention I'm the one driving, I get to decide. We're not going to stop. End of discussion."

"Then I'll force you to stop."

Ian's brow raised, his eyes dart to the rearview mirror, catching hers behind him. "Oh? And how do you plan on doing exactly that, Your Highness?"

As nonchalant as she can muster, Maysilee shrugs. "I'll jump."

Apparently, though, the soldier isn't easily wavered. "I don't think you'd really do that, Princess."

The princess, knows that this is necessary, rises her eyebrows as she dangles one of her feet, and bends her back as though she seems to be about to leap off the bike. Ian grunts in frustration as he jams the brake, and the bike halts to a stop.

"Fine. Give me that." He says, grabbing the scarf from the princess—who is smiling triumphantly.

"I can see now why you match Haymitch so perfectly, Your Highness. Your stubbornness even rivals his." Ian grunts as he tightens the knot on his thigh.

_Match so perfectly_, he has said. Maysilee is suddenly grateful for the dark surrounding, for it to hide her blush that is obviously creeping up her face. "If I may point it out, though—you've spoken rather boldly, Soldier Hawthorne."

The soldier grins as he shifts the gear of the bike, rearing it to start moving again.

"Oh, but you do not deny it that you _do _match him perfectly, do you, Princess?"

Of course, Maysilee doesn't answer. But her silence is enough to coax a laugh out of the soldier in front of her. "Relax, Your Highness. I'll carry that secret to my grave."

The princess scoffs. "You'd better."

* * *

They walk on the muddy ground, deliberately leaving their trails uncovered in the direction back to Panem. In truth, once the ground turns a bit grassier, they circle the area back to where they come and climb up three different sturdy trees around the clearing where they left the car. Not too far up to be able to hear the conversation below, but not low enough for them to notice three shadows in Panem's soldiers' black uniform lurking up in the canopies of the forest.

"Make sure the sunlight won't cast a shadow on your figure. Once you made that mistake, we're all dead." Haymitch warns his fellow soldiers.

And they haven't been settled themselves long enough when footsteps are heard. Immediately, the three of them lock eyes on each other, and freeze.

The black masks figure come with stealth of those who are used with the forest. One of them opens the door, obviously found it empty since he slams it back shut.

"They escaped."

Silence engulfs the figures below, before one steps forward. "You four, scout the area and try to find anything around here that might be useful of showing their whereabouts, or at least where did they go. You and you, search the car. Find anything they left behind. The rest of you, go after the princess. The boss isn't going to be happy that snotty princess got away."

* * *

It's been a few nights in a row that Hazelle and Loraine spend their time in the palace. Portia Wright is a downright cheerful woman, as well as passionate when it comes to the art of designing. She is also extremely humble for a royal stylist who doesn't even hesitate to ask about street art design—or so she called it.

Portia knows the basic sense of art, what's with her being a graduate from School of Art in University of Arnoldia. Whilst for Hazelle and Loraine who design merely based on their basic common knowledge as well as their taste, there's a quiet difference, obviously. Nevertheless, Portia is always open to everything she could earn from the two younger girls. Sure, they don't always talk or wok on their piece of art—sometimes they just talk, about things or gossips around the city and other nonsense girls their age usually talk about.

This time, it's only Loraine and Portia who are still remaining in the private chamber as well as work space of the royal stylist. Hazelle has long gone, saying she needs to take care of her currently-ill grandmother back home. It's one less voice chirping in, but the buzz in the rather vast room isn't lacking. Both women are still talking among each other, drawing sketches and checking out which color is well-combined with which, when there's a knock on the closed door.

"Yes?" Portia calls out without looking up, scribbling notes on a piece of paper.

"Are you busy, Portia? May we come in?"

Recognizing the voice of the prince, Portia quickly drops her notes. "Oh! No, of course you may, Your Highness!" she waves urgently to Loraine who stands closest to the door, signaling for her to open the door.

Before them, stand two most favorite royals of Utopia. Crown Prince Alexander Undersee and his brother, Matthew, one Loraine has come to be familiar with.

The latter of the two, though, has his brows raised upon seeing her still present in the room. "Miss White," he nods in greeting. Quickly, Loraine curtsey, and stands up straighter.

"What are you still doing here, at this hour? You do realize that it's dark already outside, do you not?" he asks, his tone obviously incredulous.

Instead of responding, she merely grins sheepishly. "I'm sorry, but we lost track of time. I'll leave as soon as possible before it gets too dark, though."

Prince Matthew sighs. "Portia, you really need to watch out for your timing. It's dangerous for fine ladies such Loraine here to wander alone at night."

The royal stylist presses her lips grimly as she nods, fully aware of her mistake. "Yes, Your Highness. I'm sorry, and I promise this is not going to happen again."

The prince nods, then turns to his older brother. "May some of the guards escort them home?"

Alexander, who has been watching the interaction unfolds before him in silence, gives him a curt nod. "Of course, but I'd like to know first, who is this fine lady, Matthew?"

Instead of Loraine, it's Portia who quickly answers. "Oh! Where's my manner. Your Highness, this is Loraine White, one of two talented girls who designed your second set of attires for the coronation. She, and her friend, Hazelle Riverton, have been here lately, giving me ideas and fresh breaths for my upcoming designs," she gushes, while on the other side of the room, Loraine flushes from the high praise she's receiving.

The crown prince's brows raised in mild surprise—and amusement, there's some of it dancing in his eyes too. "That so? It's a pleasure, then, to be in the presence of such brilliant designer," he says, inclining his head with a small smile to Loraine.

The girl is now left flabbergasted. To have a royalty—screw that, a _crown prince who is going to be coronated in less than a fortnight away—_praising her much less inclining his head in such respect is absolutely a surprise for a lowly girl like her.

"That is… um, a lot of praise, Your Highness. Portia is exaggerating, though, I'm not that… _brilliant_. But I thank you, all the same."

The prince waves his hand dismissively. "Nonsense. Now, since my brother is more than right, that it's getting darker outside, I take it you'd be going on your way, now?"

Loraine nods. "Yes, Your Highness."

He nods again. "Very well."

He then turns to one of his guard standing outside the door, signaling him to enter. "Please, find an off-duty guard to see her return safely home."

The guard nods wordlessly, and about to turn around to leave when Matthew stops him. "I'll escort her to the guard," he offers.

Prince Alexander doesn't reply right away. He stares at his younger brother in silence, locking his gaze with his own as if trying to read something from him.

"Why?" is the only inquiry escapes the crown prince's mouth.

The younger royal shrugs. "I had an unfinished conversation with her, and I'd like to continue it given the time."

There's the staring contest again. Loraine doesn't know what is it that troubles the older prince, but there's a voice from the far corner of her mind that tells her—whatever it is, it's got something to do with her.

"Very well, you may go. But return as quickly as you could, I'd like to have another word with you, Brother."

Matthew snorts. "So much formality, now, don't you think?"

Alexander purses his lips, and without answering he turns to Loraine. "Excuse our little bickering, Miss Loraine. Like many of the eldest always say, old habits die hard."

Loraine chuckles, "Yes, I could see that, Your Highness. Anyhow, thank you, for even considering of troubling yourself with seeing me getting home safe and sound. You really shouldn't. It's my fault, after all, getting carried away and lost track of time like that."

Alexander tilts his head aside with a polite smile. "Nonsense. A gentleman should always treat a lady the way he wants his female family member to be treated anyway, don't you think? And besides, if I were to be your father or brother or husband, I certainly would like for the king to care enough into seeing that you return home safely."

Loraine takes her time to pause in front of him. "You are really going to be a fine king when the time comes, Your Highness."

A cheeky smile breaks through his face as he inclines his head in a silent gratitude for the compliment. "I certainly hope so, Miss White."

"You talk as if the coronation is years away," Matthew chirps in. Loraine snorts quietly, throwing a playful glance at the younger prince. Matthew, unfazed by the response he got, quickly offers his arm to the girl next to him.

"Come, my lady."

Loraine smiles shyly, then tucks her hand into the crook of his elbow as she falls into step next to him. "I'm not a lady, Your Highness. A mere lowly girl, that's all I ever am."

They walk through the brightly lit—though rather empty—hallway, and upon hearing her response, though, the prince stops. He turns to fully face Loraine, resting his hands over her petite shoulders, and bends down to leve his eyes with hers.

"No," he says resolutely. "A lady isn't a title. Any free and honorable woman who earns it deserves to be called a lady, and that isn't limited by noble titles."

There's an unmistakable warmth spreading from where the prince places his hands, sending tingles to her core. _But you're no one_, Loraine scolds herself, and to suffice to whatever it is she feels won't get her anywhere. So she tries to ignore the heat and smiles politely to him. "It's nice for you to say that, Your Highness."

As if just realizing their rather close—if not intimate—proximity, Matthew quickly draws his hands back as though they've been burnt. He drops his gaze, ashamed that he's caught letting his composure loose like that, dangerously close to crossing the appropriate line between him and this girl before him. _You're engaged, for heaven's sake_, he groans inwardly.

But he simply cannot resist.

The lump in his throat is painful as he forces himself to step away. "Come, I'll escort you to your guard so you could return home as soon as possible."

His obvious attempt on keeping his distance with her now, surprisingly gives a pang of hurt somewhere about her chest. For all the time she's spent her day with Portia, almost everyday Matthew came over with different excuses. He talked to her, well, talked like he was talking to his best friend, with minimal formality and his guard down.

Not like this. This one's different.

Loraine knows well enough that it possibly doesn't mean anything for him, perhaps the prince just needs a friend after all. But for her? Sure, that's a whole different story.

Then there's also the fact that he's engaged to the princess of Panem, who's due to come this afternoon… _where is she, anyway?_

Just as she is about to ask him, a guard comes rushing in towards the prince.

"Your Highness!" he half-yells, breathless from running.

Matthew frowns. He rarely sees a breathless guard at this hour, unless there's something wrong. _Oh, blast, _he curses inwardly.

Outwardly, "Yes?"

The guard stands upright, saluting the prince before delivering the bomb. "There are three Panem soldiers arrived just a moment ago, Your Highness, asking if the Princess is here. Since she is obviously not here…"

It doesn't take a genius to put two and two together. "The princess is missing?" Matthew fumes, his teeth gritted hard.

The guard gulps. "That's what we thought, Your Highness. The soldiers said that they were ambushed on the way this afternoon, and the princess fleed with one of her trusted soldier with a motorbike. She is supposed to be here right now, but…"

There are a thousand possibilities as to where the Princess of Panem is right now, but one thing Matthew Undersee has got to do first.

"Where are they?"

If possible, the guard stands up straighter. "In the guards quarter, Your Highness. They seemed disoriented, and since we're awaiting your orders, we thought it best to give them rest under our watchful eyes."

The prince nods in approval. "Good thinking. And since I'm also heading there," he turns to Loraine with an apologetic look, one which she returns with an understanding smile. "Lead the way, Soldier."

The guard salutes the prince again, before turning around and marches away, leading the prince and his lady friend to where a surprise is waiting for them.


End file.
